Among the Stars
by storyweaver24
Summary: AU where the Doctor is a boy in a coma and his companions are his roommates. Um. Yeah.


**A/N: Whoo writer's block is somewhat over! Also, first DW fanfiction. Based on a post I cannot find but I will add as soon as possible. Just something small because I was inspired. :) Enjoy**

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They told me I could do anything I wanted when I got better. They told me I could run, they told me I could explore, they told me I could travel across the universe.

They told me a lot of things.

They told me I was a miracle eleven times, but they didn't tell me that I almost died eleven times too. I had to figure that one out on my own. It wasn't hard. I knew it when the pain in my body seemed to glow golden, and I started to turn into a million floating pieces.

I knew when I heard the whooshing sound of the breath-machine beside me that I would soon see the stars. They called the machine a Tardis and it let me live. My favorite day was the day they took me off it. I was free for a whole half-hour, with a nurse smiling at me prettily. But I started to fade. The Tardis came back and I never saw the nurse again. I like to think she comes sometimes when I'm sleeping and makes sure I can breathe.

It seems like the beds around me are never empty. Never in this hospital. The smiling yellow-girl Rose was here just a while ago. We had such fun, such adventures. We ran across moons together and can you keep a secret? We would sometimes hold hands across the bed when the doctors' shoes grew too loud in the hallway.

I woke up one day to shouting. I couldn't see her for all the people crowding her side. As much as I would have liked to, I couldn't get off the bed. They whisked her away and soon the yellow and pink sheets were replaced with the standard white.

They told me I couldn't go to her. They wouldn't tell me why.

Martha came along a while ago. Sweet and smart, she followed me through the galaxy. Little did she know that she was the one leading me, not the other way around. She was the first to laugh at the dancing angel wallpaper. Her bright smile helped me forget the pain. One day, she put on her shoes and left, just like that. I only saw her through the windows as she came in for a checkup every so often. But she always gave me a smile when she was there.

I heard Donna before I saw her. She was yelling at a nurse because they had poked her too hard and the cookie they gave her was "too small a bribe for this torture." She would lay on her bed and sigh grumpily most of the time, pausing only to make some comment about how I never seemed to move. But I loved that loud voice of hers. It was comforting and joyful and so _alive._ She left the hospital in a wheelchair, forgetting how to walk and talk. Forgetting me.

They said it was due to a doctor's error in surgery. I don't know why I couldn't see her again, though.

Amy's sheets were red like her hair and red like her temper. She was Scottish, with a patriotic streak the size of a river and an accent to match. She played with dolls every day and described the Tardis to me. I didn't care that she couldn't see it; it was forever painted as a blue box inside my head. Sometimes she would tell me about the cracks of light she saw when the sun rose and snuck past the bandages over her eyes. Sometimes, she cried for what seemed like forever because of her stomach or because of her head. She shamelessly listened to the doctors talk and came back with a pained expression one day. It was only late at night, when the moon wasn't shining, that she told me I was going to die.

On Amy's other side another child slept. His name was Rory. He would come in for months at a time. Sometimes he would leave for a while but he always came back. He was Amy's favorite person in the whole wide world. She lit up whenever he was there, and he hated to leave the hospital because of it. He would read her books and she would sing him songs, laughing when he joined in.

They told me they wanted to grow old together. I secretly thought they would sooner die together.

My other side was occasionally taken by a wild-haired girl I called River. Melody didn't fit her, but River did and so River it was. I always felt as if she was living in reverse because she looked healthy when she was sick and sick when she was healthy. She called me sweetie, even though she was not much older, and would press her lips to my forehead when the nurses weren't looking.

When all the beds were empty, Clara came. She was tiny with black hair and roses all over. I found it hard to believe that she took care of her sisters after her mother died, but she swears it to be true. Her favorite tree was a maple tree and she always kept a leaf tucked into her favorite book. She said she was going to visit every single place when she grew up.

They told me she was a miracle twice. I took that to mean that she was dead twice.

I can still see them sometimes, when the shadows are cast along the beds. They overlap each other, blending until I am just a mess of tears. I thank them every day, that they helped me. I can't tell them, though. Not until I wake up from this coma. Not unless I wake from this coma.

They told me I could see the world. They told me I was a miracle. They told me I was a story to be shared. But only, _only_ if I opened my eyes. How I wish I could, but they are too heavy.

They told me I could walk among the stars.


End file.
